The market was alive with chatter and movement, a vibrant hub where the lifeblood of the village seemed to pulse. Vendors called out their prices with voices hoarse from repetition, children dashed between stalls with mischievous grins, and the warm, earthy scent of fresh produce mingled with the sharp tang of salted fish. My father, Barid, stood a few paces away, haggling with a stern-faced buyer over the weight of our harvest.
I busied myself by unloading sacks of grain and vegetables from the cart, my muscles aching with the familiar strain. Normally, these small routines provided a comforting rhythm to life, a reassuring sense of order amidst the chaos of the world. But today, something felt different, as though the air itself carried a charge of anticipation.
It was while adjusting a sack of potatoes that I first caught the drift of an animated conversation nearby. A cluster of villagers stood by a stall selling dried herbs, their voices rising just above the general din of the marketplace. One word, spoken with a mixture of awe and excitement, pierced through the noise like an arrow: Falmuth.
I straightened, my ears attuned to the flow of their words. Setting down the sack, I moved closer, feigning interest in a bundle of herbs as I strained to listen.
“Casca’s hosting interviews for commoners this week,” said one man, his enthusiasm evident. His words tumbled out quickly, as though the sheer importance of the topic demanded haste. “The Falmuth Military Academy itself! Can you imagine? Commoners walking those halls?”
Another voice chimed in, thick with skepticism. “Commoners in Falmuth? Hah! Don’t fool yourself. They’re not just taking anyone. You’ve got to read and write, and wield a sword like you’ve been doing it since birth. Most of us can’t even sign our own names.”
A third man, older and more subdued, added gravely, “It’s not just about skill either. You’ve got to impress those royal officers. I hear they judge commoners twice as harshly as the nobility. They want to weed out anyone who doesn’t belong.”
The words swirled in my mind like embers igniting a long-forgotten fire. Falmuth Military Academy. Even in my previous life, its name was spoken with reverence. It was said to be the pinnacle of martial and strategic training, a place where the kingdom’s brightest minds and strongest bodies were shaped into leaders. Graduates of Falmuth didn’t just serve—they commanded. Officers from the academy were the backbone of the Central Military, directly serving the royal family.
The academy had seemed unattainable to someone like me in my first life. Born a commoner in Werfowl, my path had led me to House Rithane’s army at sixteen, where I began as a Footman, the lowest rank, barely more than a disposable soldier. There, I had clawed my way up, learning to read and write in stolen moments under Renar’s mentorship, piecing together knowledge that nobles were born with.
But now, everything was different. I wasn’t the ignorant boy I had been. I already knew how to read and write. My swordsmanship, though still limited by my current body, carried the memory of countless battles fought and lost. I had honed my mind on war and strategy for years in a future that no longer existed.
Casca. An opportunity lay there that had never been within reach before. If I could pass the academy’s trials, I wouldn’t have to toil away at the bottom of the military hierarchy. I could begin my climb in the Central Military—gaining rank, influence, and power under the royal family itself. It was the perfect position from which to dismantle House Rithane and expose their treachery.
My heart beat faster as the plan began to form. For the first time since my return, the future didn’t seem like an overwhelming weight but a challenge waiting to be conquered. With every step forward, I would carve the path that House Rithane would one day regret forcing me to take.
A shout from Barid jolted me from my thoughts. “Illiad, stop dawdling and get the rest of those potatoes unloaded! We’ve still got customers waiting!”
“Yes, Father,” I replied, the faintest smile tugging at my lips. Though the market scene around me appeared unchanged, I knew the course of my life had already shifted.
**
Intentions Revealed
Dinner that evening was a simple affair, the aroma of Lydia’s hearty vegetable stew filling the room. The three of us sat at the worn wooden table, bowls in hand, as the fire in the hearth crackled softly. Barid, tired from the day’s labor, ate in contemplative silence, while Lydia hummed a familiar tune, her hands occasionally darting out to straighten my hair or refill my bowl.
The warmth of home should have been soothing, but my thoughts were consumed by the news I’d overheard at the market. Every detail about the Falmuth Military Academy replayed in my mind, its importance growing with each passing moment. It was an opportunity I couldn’t let slip by, and the decision to pursue it was already made. But the approval of my parents mattered, and tonight, I would ask for it.
Setting my spoon down, I cleared my throat to gather their attention. “Father, Mother,” I began, my tone measured but resolute.
Lydia paused mid-hum, her soft eyes meeting mine with curiosity. “What is it, Illiad?”
Barid, always practical, raised a brow as he reached for a chunk of bread. “Something on your mind, lad?”
I nodded, sitting up straighter. “I heard something at the market today. Falmuth Military Academy is holding interviews for commoners in Casca.”
Barid’s brow furrowed, and Lydia tilted her head, her expression shifting to one of cautious intrigue.
“They’re allowing commoners to apply?” Barid asked, his tone skeptical. “Falmuth’s not exactly known for opening its doors to folk like us.”
“Yes,” I replied. “The passing grade is high. Applicants must be able to read, write, and demonstrate strong swordsmanship. That’s why they rarely take commoners. But they are allowing it. This is a chance I can’t ignore. I want to apply.”
The room went silent. Lydia’s spoon clattered softly as she set it down, her eyes searching my face for an explanation. Barid leaned back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest.
“Apply?” Barid repeated, his tone carefully neutral. “You’ve been training hard these past weeks, that much is clear. But the academy is a long way from Werfowl, and it’s no place for the faint of heart. Are you sure this is what you want?”
“I’m sure,” I said without hesitation. “This is the best path forward. The academy’s graduates don’t just become soldiers—they become officers. It’s a chance to gain a rank that matters, to serve the kingdom directly. If I wait, I don’t know if I’ll ever get another opportunity like this.”
Lydia’s face softened, but worry crept into her eyes. “Illiad, you’re only fourteen,” she said gently. “Isn’t it too early? You’re still just a boy.”
I met her gaze, my expression resolute. “Mother, the world doesn’t wait for us to be ready. Falmuth isn’t just a chance for me—it’s a chance for all of us. With the academy’s training, I can do more than scrape by as a farmer or a foot soldier. I can protect us, secure a better future.”
Barid tapped his fingers against the table, his sharp gaze fixed on me. “And what brought this on, Illiad? This isn’t just a passing fancy. You’ve been training day in and day out. Is this why? Have you been preparing for something like this all along?”
I hesitated for a brief moment, then nodded. “Yes. I’ve been working hard because I know this is my path. I want to make something of myself, Father. For me, and for us.”
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Barid leaned back, the weight of the decision settling over him. “It won’t be easy,” he said after a moment. “If you go, you’ll be competing against boys who’ve trained under knights, boys who’ve grown up with tutors and resources we can’t even imagine. And if you fail…”
“I won’t fail,” I said firmly, my voice steady. “I’ve been training for this. I can do it.”
Lydia reached out, placing a hand on mine. “Illiad, we only want what’s best for you,” she said softly. “If your heart is set on this, then we’ll support you. But promise me you’ll take care of yourself. The road ahead will be difficult.”
“I promise, Mother,” I said, squeezing her hand in return.
Barid sighed, rubbing his temples before giving me a small nod. “All right, lad. If this is what you want, we’ll make it happen. But you’ll need to prove yourself worthy of the opportunity.”
“I will,” I replied, relief washing over me.
Later that evening, as I lay in bed, staring up at the wooden beams of the ceiling, my mind raced. Their approval was the first step, but the challenges ahead would test me more than anything I had faced since my return. The academy wouldn’t care about my determination—they would measure my skills and discard me if I wasn’t up to standard.
But the fire of revenge burned brighter in my chest now, fueled by the weight of my parents’ trust. This wasn’t just for me anymore. This was for them, for the future I owed to the family that had always believed in me.
As I drifted to sleep, I could still hear my father’s words echoing in my mind: “Prove yourself worthy.”
Tomorrow, the journey to Casca would begin, and with it, the first real test of my resolve.
**
To Casca
The sun had barely risen when Barid and I set off on the dirt road that wound through Werfowl’s farmlands. Morning dew clung to the grass, glistening under the soft light, and the faint scent of damp earth lingered in the air. The cart creaked under the weight of its load—fresh vegetables for the market in Casca—but the weight I carried in my mind far surpassed the cart’s burden.
Barid walked beside me, his steady stride a testament to years of labor and resilience. His presence was grounding, but the journey ahead filled me with a mix of anticipation and trepidation. Casca wasn’t far—just half a day’s walk—but for me, it marked the beginning of a much longer road.
As we walked, the familiar sights of Werfowl began to fade, replaced by dense woods and stretches of open fields. Birds flitted between trees, their songs a backdrop to the crunch of our boots against the dirt. Barid glanced at me occasionally, as though trying to gauge my thoughts, but for the most part, he let me stew in my silence.
“Casca’s a bigger village than Werfowl,” he said after a while, breaking the quiet. “Busier, too. You’ll see people from all walks of life there—merchants, travelers, even a few nobles passing through.”
I nodded, though my thoughts were elsewhere. Casca might have been larger, but it was still just a stepping stone toward Falmuth and everything that lay beyond.
“Do you think they’ll really let someone like me into the academy?” I asked, my voice tinged with uncertainty despite my best efforts to sound confident.
Barid chuckled, his tone wry but encouraging. “The academy doesn’t care where you’re from, lad. They care what you can do. If you’ve got the skill and the brains to pass their tests, they’ll take you. It’s as simple as that.”
I nodded again, his words bolstering my resolve. Still, I couldn’t help but think of the countless noble-born applicants who would likely be there, with their polished swords and years of formal training. I’d have to prove myself not just as an equal but as someone worthy of surpassing them.
We stopped briefly near a stream to rest the oxen and stretch our legs. Barid took a seat on a flat rock, watching the water ripple over the stones. He gestured for me to join him, and I did, wiping the sweat from my brow.
“You’ve changed, Illiad,” he said suddenly, his voice low but firm.
I turned to him, startled. “Changed?”
He nodded, his gaze thoughtful. “These past few weeks… you’ve been different. More driven. It’s like you’re carrying the weight of something much larger than yourself. I see it in the way you train, the way you talk. It’s not the kind of determination most boys your age have.”
I hesitated, unsure how to respond. He wasn’t wrong. The determination he saw came from a lifetime of mistakes and lessons I couldn’t explain to him.
“I just… want to do something meaningful,” I said finally, carefully choosing my words. “Something that matters. For us. For our family.”
Barid studied me for a moment before nodding, his expression softening. “That’s a good answer, lad. Just remember, no matter what path you take, your mother and I are proud of you. We always will be.”
By midday, the outskirts of Casca came into view, its wooden buildings standing in stark contrast to the simpler homes of Werfowl. The village bustled with activity, carts rattling over cobblestone streets as merchants shouted their wares. The air was thick with the mingled scents of baked bread, roasted meat, and the faint metallic tang of forge work.
Barid guided the cart through the crowded streets with practiced ease, his steady hand on the oxen’s reins. My eyes darted around, taking in the unfamiliar sights and sounds. Compared to Werfowl, Casca felt almost like a city, its energy both overwhelming and invigorating.
“Over there,” Barid said, pointing toward the village square.
A large crowd had gathered near a hastily erected pavilion, where banners bearing the royal insignia fluttered in the breeze. Uniformed soldiers stood at attention, their polished armor gleaming under the midday sun. Tables were set up in orderly rows, each manned by officers scribbling notes or evaluating applicants.
“That must be where the interviews are happening,” Barid said, his tone thoughtful. “Looks like you’ll have some competition.”
The square buzzed with tension as I stepped into the designated area for applicants. The pavilion, grander up close, was adorned with the royal banners of Falmuth—a golden sun rising over crossed swords on a crimson background. It was a symbol of the kingdom’s might and unity, but today it stood as a looming reminder of the challenge ahead.
A few dozen boys my age or slightly older had already gathered. Some were dressed in humble work clothes like mine, their hands calloused from years of labor. Others wore tailored tunics and polished boots, marks of minor nobility or wealthier commoners. Some looked eager, gripping their swords with calloused hands. Others fidgeted nervously, their eyes darting toward the officers. A few even stood off to the side, muttering quietly to themselves as though rehearsing what they’d say. Their expressions ranged from grim determination to wide-eyed nervousness.
Near the entrance, a group of uniformed officers stood at attention, their sharp gazes sweeping over the crowd. Their armor gleamed as if freshly polished, their swords resting in scabbards that bespoke both craftsmanship and discipline. One officer, a broad-shouldered man with a grizzled beard, barked instructions to a cluster of applicants. His tone was clipped and commanding, leaving no room for questions or hesitation.
To the right, a series of tables had been arranged, each with quills, inkwells, and stacks of parchment. A few boys were already seated, their heads bowed as they scribbled furiously under the watchful eyes of military scribes. This, I assumed, was the literacy and comprehension test—a hurdle meant to weed out those who lacked formal education.
To the left, a large open area served as the site for the physical assessments. Wooden practice swords and training dummies were lined up neatly, while an officer demonstrated a series of basic maneuvers to a group of waiting boys. Some practiced diligently, their strikes deliberate and precise. Others floundered, their clumsy attempts earning disapproving scowls from the observing officers.
For a moment, I felt a pang of doubt. The scale of the operation, the sheer number of applicants, and the presence of trained evaluators made the stakes feel even higher. This wasn’t a simple village tournament or a casual test of skill. Every move, every word, and every action here would be judged and cataloged.
I clenched my fists, grounding myself. You’ve done this before, I reminded myself. You’ve seen what it takes to survive in the military. You know what they’re looking for.
Barid, standing a few steps behind me, offered a reassuring nod. “Remember, lad,” he said in a low voice, “it’s just the first step. Don’t let the crowd or the noise throw you off.”
I took a deep breath, steadying my nerves. “I won’t.”
Barid clapped a hand on my shoulder, grounding me. “You’ll do fine, Illiad,” he said. “Just remember what you’ve been training for.”
I nodded, straightening my posture. The path ahead would be grueling, but I had come too far to falter now. As I approached the pavilion, the weight of my father’s words—and my own resolve—pressed heavily on my shoulders.
As the line of applicants shuffled forward, I approached the registration table. A stern-faced officer with sharp, hawk-like eyes sat behind it, his quill scratching against parchment. He looked up briefly, his gaze assessing me in an instant before returning to his notes.
“Name?” he asked without preamble.
“Illiad, from Werfowl,” I replied, keeping my voice steady.
“Age?”
“Fourteen.”
The officer’s quill paused, and his eyes flicked back to me, this time with mild surprise. “Fourteen? That’s young. Most applicants are older. You sure you’re ready for this?”
“I’m sure,” I said firmly, meeting his gaze without flinching.
He studied me for another moment before nodding. “All right. Literacy test first, then physical evaluation. If you pass both, you’ll proceed to the final assessment. Next!”
This is it, this is the chance. I need to do this. Let’s get things started.